


The Festive Tribulations of Daryl Dixon

by Lori_S21



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: AU, Christmas Party, M/M, Meet cute!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-24
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-09-26 06:32:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17136770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lori_S21/pseuds/Lori_S21
Summary: Daryl is uncomfortable. He’s surrounded by strangers - some of them wearing novelty Christmas jumpers. Mariah is warbling about wanting someone for Christmas, and he’s wearing a tie for goodness sake.The gruelling work Christmas party may just be worth it if he can catch a glimpse of the man with the sea glass eyes again…





	The Festive Tribulations of Daryl Dixon

**Author's Note:**

> **My first non-walker AU. I’ll hold my hands up: this is a product of a couple of red wines and much Christmas spirit!**
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> **Just so you know, this story is set before orderlies were phased out of hospitals… Hey I’m British, give me a break on any glaring US hospital errors please! Comments deserve like a zillion good karma points, just so you know.**
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> **Merry Christmas!**

“This is the worst thing you’ve ever done to me.” Daryl intended his statement to be mildly threatening, but only managed to sound mournful, if Rick’s expression is anything to go on.

“Come on, brother.” Rick put a comforting hand on his shoulder, usually a warm and familiar action, but right now it felt like a restraint. And Rick wasn’t his brother, not really but admittedly it felt like it sometimes. He was older than Rick, but you wouldn’t think so by the way Rick treated him. Rick was just protective. Daryl was impulsive and a little naive, even he can admit. Their friendship just worked. Most days.

The Hilltop Hospital Christmas party. What did he ever do to Rick to deserve such horrors? There were tinsel, balloons, streamers and fairy lights _everywhere_ , and a lavish Christmas tree. Whoever had been in charge of decorating the events room of the Alexandria Hotel had really gone for it. There was a buffet, an open bar (he already could see that was being taken full advantage of), and a polished wood-effect dance floor that Daryl internally cringed away from. His colleges scrubbed up so well, he barely recognised half of them.

“How long have you worked here?” Rick drawled, eyes sparkling in a mischievous way that made it obvious the question was rhetorical. 

He still took the time to mull it over. How long had he been working as a hospital orderly? Keeping the wards clean and organised, helping when patients got a little…rambunctious. Assisting with minor procedures such as setting casts for broken bones. Above all, often just being there to listen to the many stories of patients. It was amazing how much it helped them, having someone who would listen to them. Daryl wasn’t much of a talker, so that worked out well. It was nice to make a difference. 

It was surprisingly exhausting work some days. Especially when working ER night shifts but it would all be worth it. He was learning every day, steadily gaining confidence whilst saving up for the future. He wasn’t always going to be brandishing a mop. He wanted to be a paramedic and one day, he just might get there. Night school was all he could afford and the pace was frustratingly slow. He had to get a whole bunch of qualifications before he could even begin the formal training, but he was making steady progress with hard work and patience. School had been a bust when he was a kid, not because he was stupid, he had recently realised, but because of the shit he’d had to put up with growing up in the Dixon family. But that was all behind him now.

And there were worse places to work in the meantime. Good health insurance, staff wasn’t as stuck up as he’d expected, best friend was head of security and available most lunch hours. And when he wasn’t, Daryl was free to discreetly people watch in the cafeteria. Including him. The guy with the sea glass eyes, long brown hair and pale blue physiotherapist scrubs… 

But enough about _him._

“You're a jerk.” Daryl answered, folding his arms and jutting his chin out determinedly. It only made Rick beam more. Daryl knew he was only in such a good mood at the prospect of bumping into Hilltop’s resident Oncology specialist. A tall, dark and strikingly attractive woman who was utterly fearsome when it came to running her department. She had elaborately braided hair and a way of cutting rude patients down to size with a single raised eyebrow. Rick was on first name terms with the good doctor: Michonne. Daryl liked her a lot. She had a no bullshit policy and treated Daryl decently. Some of the higher ups did have the tendency of looking down on the orderlies, but not her. She seemed to have a soft spot for his friend. Initially she had merely tolerated Rick’s presence, but he’d teased out her sense of humour gradually which was something they both had in common. He was glad. Rick hadn’t had a relationship since his divorce and it had been a tough one, though his smashing son Carl was more than worth the heartache, Daryl privately thought.

“How long, Daryl?” Rick pressed him.

“Five years,” He answered, sounding surly even to his own ears.

“And how many social events have you been on?” A pointed silence and glare said it all, really. “How many colleagues you even talked to?

“Shut up.” 

“This’ll be good for you.” Rick slapped him on the back with more enthusiasm than strictly necessary, suddenly on the alert, scanning the crowd of their dressed up and festively merry colleagues. His stance reminded Daryl of a meerkat sighting danger. He followed the other man’s gaze and surely enough, spotted Michonne in his eye line. How predictable. She was wearing a black dress that shimmered and was currently laughing with Dr Carol Peletier. She was one of Daryl’s favourite people at the hospital apart from Rick. She looked pretty stern with her steely pixie-cut and no nonsense attitude. But she had wicked sense of humour sometimes and often enjoyed teasing Daryl in front of witnesses.

She caught his eye and gave Daryl a brief wink that made him roll his eyes, trying not to grin back in return. She returned to her conversation with Michonne, corners of her mouth quirking up slightly.

Fairy lights glittered and a middle aged DJ ploughed his way through the hits of what felt like a century's worth of Christmas songs - sheer torture in Daryl’s opinion. He was considering bolting through the nearest fire exit or at least diving head-first into the open bar. He wasn’t much of a drinker, observing his daddy had seen to that, but right now he could happily make an exception. He was wearing one of Rick’s navy suits, including a tie he wanted to either throttle himself or his brother with, he wasn't quite sure. It was a little tight on the arms and damn hot as well. He kept his heavy biker boots on as a compromise (to spite Rick) though he’d relented and had run a brush through freshly washed hair.

He could see that many had already been taking full advantage of the bar refreshments though. There were some truly cringeworthy shapes being pulled on the dance floor. Daryl would rather eat dog food than join them.

“I talk to people,” Daryl protested weakly, tearing his eyes away from the sight before him. Doctor Porter doing the robot was something he did not need to see, no matter how much of a genius the guy was. He was feeling very much surrounded by doctors higher up the hospital hierarchal ladder at this point. Where were the nurses? Where were his fellow orderlies?

The physiotherapists…?

“Oh yeah, like who?” Rick challenged, snapping him out of his thoughts. He grinned at Daryl though his eyes kept darting back to Michonne. 

Daryl let out a pained sigh. “Rick, if ya want me to say hi to Carol so you can drag her away from Michonne, just say.” He snapped, cutting to the chase.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Rick deadpanned innocently and Daryl decided the man must be pretty sweet on her to be acting so goddamned goofy. “But if you want to go and say hello, I could come with…”

“You’re a dork.” Daryl glowered.

“And you’re an excellent wingman.” Rick answered smartly, practically dragging Daryl over by the arm. He added in an undertone: “But seriously, try and get in the festive spirit, yeah? It’ll be good for you, I swear it.” 

Daryl grunted in response and mentally prepared himself. Carol was holding a drink and there was no way she wasn’t going to call him some ridiculous endearment in front of this audience.

“You smarten up well, pookie.” 

She hadn’t even made it past the opening pleasantries. Everyone laughed.

There were hugs, even a few cheek kisses, the general exchanging of greetings. Rick was trying to act smooth which made Daryl smirk (Rick elbowed him in the ribs to get him to cut it out). Eventually Rick and Michonne began to talk in earnest, leaving him and Carol to get by which was fine with Daryl. He liked Carol.

“Any plans for the holidays?” She asked brightly.

“Work.” He answered truthfully. Hospital didn’t shut Christmas day, after all.

“Obviously,” Carol said slightly chidingly but good natured. She was wearing a sparkly red jumper. Daryl thought she looked like a Christmas elf. He’d tell her that later, probably. She didn't scare him. “Anything else?” At Daryl’s slightly awkward pause (he never had plans unless they were with Rick. He actively avoided his real family), she gracefully moved on. It was one of the things he liked most about Carol, she didn't pry. He suspected they had a lot in common in their personal lives sometimes. “Mine involves a couple of chicken pot pies and a bottle of chianti… The drink is for me, not my daughter of course.” She smiled wickedly and Daryl wondered how much she had to drink. He didn't mind, it was good to see her happy.

“Sounds good.” He replied because she expected one. “How is Sophia?” He’d met her kid once or twice. She was a sweet girl.

“Cute as a button and fierce smart,” Carol practically glowed.

“Must take after her mama,” He teased and she hit him on the arm, laughing. It only hurt a little. “You gonna wear another festive jumper Christmas day, little elf?”

“I’ll make you wear one if you’re not careful.”

He enjoyed messing around with Carol. He eventually managed to drift away when their little group had been invaded by a sudden wave of surgeons. Surgeons could be awkward and stand-offish at times. Not that Daryl was one to throw stones but he thought he’d best extract himself from that situation. He drifted through the party at a loss. He spotted Nurse Beth with a gaggle of other nurses, who give him a cheery wave before blushing to her blonde roots. She seemed to be on the peach schnapps again. He liked her a lot but thought he might give her a wide berth tonight. She was a sweet kid but even he could see her crush a mile off. Her older sister, Margret or Maggie something, was one of the junior doctors here, and looked like she already knew her way around a scalpel…

Beth wasn't his type either.

He made his way over to one of the corners of the room, chucking back a beer to two to settle his nerves along the way. He stationed himself far from the bar, buffet or dance floor, the main areas of socialisation. He focused on becoming one with the wall. The wall was safe. Wall was nice. _Frosty the Snowman_ was the current tune of choice and his pissed-up colleagues were really digging it. He played with the end of his tie and idly wondered who would fall over first… 

Then he saw him. He was here. The man with the sea glass eyes.

Okay, Daryl would be lying if he said the idea of running into the little physiotherapist outside of a work environment wasn’t a big attraction in coming tonight. The only attraction really. If Rick had known, that would have been some valuable ammunition. Regardless, he’s pleased his friend made him smarten up a little. He knew it was unlikely that the mystery man would be working the night shift, given his profession and deduced there was a high probability he would be here. He had a sunny demeanour, kind and calm — people liked him. Why wouldn't he come to the Christmas work do?

Daryl’s heart started to race and he felt as pathetic as Rick (now sat down with Michonne, making googly eyes at her). He edged around the buffet table, eyes trained on the man who was talking to a handsome but scruffy bearded man, one of the nurses - Adam, Aaron? - whatever. They looked comfortable with each other but Nurse Friendly was wearing a wedding ring Daryl noted with some relief before feeling like a creeper.

The mystery man looked stunning. 

His long hair was loose for once and looked soft and wavy, the kind you’d love to run your fingers through. He was wearing a suit, Daryl was pleased to note, in black. His jacket had a velvet tinge to it and looked warm and inviting. His crisp, white shirt collar was unbuttoned (no tie damn it), his pants were fitted, sculpting his body. He looked comfortable and relaxed, holding a thin wine glass of something bubbly whilst laughing at his companion’s comment, hair rippling. Daryl had a lump in his throat. He could see those striking eyes even from across the room, the way they glinted in the light. His friend made him look even shorter, but his height was kind of cute, Daryl privately thought. 

It wasn’t just how he looked. Daryl knew he had a soft, lilting voice, so calm it drew you in. And there was this stillness about him that Daryl found very appealing. When he did move, he was incredibly graceful, not trying to draw attention to himself, but how could he not when he looked like that? Not a movement his wiry body made was ever wasted, Daryl thought, like he was a dancer or a fighter.

The man was beautiful and Daryl had absolutely no idea who he was.

He’d first seen him in the cafeteria at work, about half a year ago. 

It was one of those days when Rick wasn’t around. Daryl would grab his free lunch, keep his head down and try to take a breather and get his strength back for the remaining shift. He had been steadfastly trying to give up smoking (to varying degrees of success) so he forced himself to stay indoors away from the smokers, grimly concentrating on his food. It wasn’t all that appealing seeing the firsthand effects of smoke on people’s health day in and day out so he was trying. He had been feeling a little on edge so had wanted to sit alone anyway, for his own sake and for any poor soul who tried to make conversation with him.

That’s when he’d first seen him, sat on the table opposite. He hadn’t been doing anything particularly interesting, just reading a beat up paperback whilst toying with some delicious green jello (hardly a nutritional lunch). His pale blue scrubs singled him out as part of the physio department and he was most definitely new to the hospital. Daryl would have remembered seeing that face before.

It was a good face, an intelligent face. He had smooth skin and a neat little beard. An elegant slope of a nose and wide eyes that looked pale in colour from a distance. He had high cheekbones, full cheeks and a shapely mouth that Daryl bet would have a great smile. His long hair was a lovely golden brown and was pulled into a neat little bun that showed off the line of his neck. 

The sight of him made Daryl nervous and he didn’t know why. His stomach fluttered and Daryl decided that he thought the man must be suspicious or something.

At first, registering him was nothing more than curiosity. Then a case of ‘Who the hell is he?’ which steadily became an almost irritated: ‘He is stupidly good looking.’ There had been something serene in his expression, he was calming to watch. How absorbed he was in his book, his causal posture. He didn’t trust him. That must be it.

Maybe he should go and say: ‘Hi, welcome to the hospital’? Daryl had actually snorted at the thought (like _that_ was going to happen) and tried to return to his wilting chicken salad sandwich.

The man had returned to the cafeteria every now and then, whether that was the days he worked or because his lunch break rotated, Daryl did not know. Sometimes he was joined with the other blue scrubs, laughing and joking with them in a soft spoken voice (he did have a nice smile, damn him). Sometimes he sat alone, often with jello in varied colours. 

He was really distracting, a spot of sunshine in a dreary room. Daryl tried to keep his eyes to himself. Once or twice he brought a book of his own. Not to catch the other man’s eyes, absolutely not, but as a distraction _from_ the distraction. 

Daryl took sneak peaks at him, but the man never looked his way. Too absorbed in his book or his company. Sometimes he caught up on paperwork. Other times he toyed with his food, lost in his thoughts. He looked happier with company, but only just. Daryl often wondered what he was thinking, if he liked working here, if he was lonely. 

One occasion, when he was alone, the man leaned back in his steel and plastic chair and put his foot on the table. 

That was not on.

That was against all health code regulations, surely? One of the kitchen staff would have to wipe that down, or Daryl himself. He really should go and say something, shouldn’t he? It wasn't an ideal conversational starter sure, but it was a way in. Daryl would never have the nerve to do so otherwise, but the sight of that regulation white sneaker on the table top was genuinely a little bit irritating. Use the righteousness to storm over there and give him a stern but polite talking to. Then maybe join him? Ask him if he likes jello…? Daryl decided that would be weird but he could probably manage the first bit. He drummed his hands on the table for a minute, trying to decide.

And so, hands sweating and heart racing, he stood up and took shaky steps over to the beautiful but inconsiderate man, gathering all his annoyance around him like protective armour. He even managed a bit of a swagger as he drew closer…

The man looked up from his book, locked eyes with him, and Daryl did the most dramatic swerve of his life, narrowly avoiding collision with another tray laden colleague. 

He swept out of the room, aghast. What was wrong with him?

All the while, he replayed the moment their eyes met. He was actually a little shaken. The man’s eyes had been the colour of sea glass, blue-green, clear and somehow cool and warm all at once. He’d even given him the brief flicker of a smile, expression politely expectant instead of alarmed as was most people’s reaction to an approaching Daryl Dixon. 

Daryl was ruined.

Thankfully, for the next few lunches, the man wasn’t there, or when he was, Rick was there to distract Daryl. Though even he had begun to question why Daryl was so twitchy lately ( _“Have you got the shits?”_ )

Then one day, he’d forgotten his access card. All members of staff needed to swipe their door key to access the cafeteria and it seemed his had wandered off into another dimension for all he knew (AKA his locker as it turned out). He had to wait outside the swinging doors like a big dummy in purple scrubs, hoping someone would let him in, or perhaps duck in as someone leaves. All he could do over and over was the little mime routine of checking his pockets, patting himself down and sighing dramatically whilst hoping someone would step in and have mercy. He was hungry. And tempted to bum a cigarette off of one of the smokers if he didn’t get in soon.

It must have been a quiet lunch period that day or the universe really had it in for him. The next thing he knew, a smooth and familiar voice was right behind him, friendly and mildly amused.

“Oh no, you locked yourself out?” 

He turned, looked down a bit (he was short and it wasn't cute at all…) and saw the man. Cafeteria Man. Long haired, hippy eyes dude. Perfect.

And instead of answering or turning it into a joke or utilising his vocal cords in _any way at all_ , Daryl had shrugged and nodded like his brain was sending out conflicting signals that wanted to make him look like a puppet with its strings cut.

The man smiled more broadly, warm and sympathising and Daryl died a little more inside whilst his heart staggered in a peculiar fashion. He tore his eyes away, deciding the best path for his survival would be to not look directly at him. Like he was Medusa or something, only instead of turning you into stone, you acted like a freak apparently. “I can let you in…?” There was something almost teasing in his tone. He reached out to swipe his keycard.

_Yes please. That would be great thanks. I’m Daryl, what’s your name? Want to get lunch together? You liking working here? Why does your face look like that?!_

Instead Daryl merely grunted a curt thanks and rushed through the doors before they had really opened wide enough to omit a man of his size. His face was on fire and he wanted to drown himself in the water cooler if he could figure out how to open it up. What was wrong with him? In a panicked haze, he grabbed a salad of all things (yuck) and got the hell out of there, temptation to smoke be damned.

But he couldn’t avoid him forever. The other man had nodded at him occasionally after that, sometimes giving him little half smiles that made Daryl feel all panicky inside. They sometimes caught each other’s eye from across the room and Daryl never remembered his own reaction. He hoped that he didn’t scowl back, his automatic defensive reaction to most things. The man never tried to approach Daryl again, not after Daryl’s freakish response to his small act of kindness. It made him a feel a little dejected but he had to remind himself he never knew the other man anyway.

One time, after catching a particularly sweet smile from the other man as he glanced up from his paperback, Rick actually commented on Daryl’s reaction. He glanced over his shoulder. “You know that guy?” He nodded at the man, his target unmistakable.

“No!” It came out far sharper than he intended and Rick’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Don’t work the physio department, do I?” He added, trying to soften his tone. 

Rick had hummed thoughtfully, which Daryl hadn’t liked at all. He had to swallow the urge to ask him what face he’d been making at the mystery man to warrant his question. He dreaded the answer anyway.

As the Physiotherapy ward wasn't Daryl’s department, they rarely saw each other outside that dreaded room (apart from heart palpitating glimpses in the corridors now and then), until now. The bloody Christmas party. Daryl was _sweating._

Daryl wished he could simply stride over and say hello but that was something other men did. People who were confident, not wearing a tie, who could string more than two sentences together in a row (how do they do that?). He knew that any action so bold would end with him fervently wishing the floor would open up or that a hoard of rotting zombies would shamble through the room. He’s not fussed, really.

The man turned his head and his beautiful eyes suddenly flickered over to Daryl. He’s sure it didn’t happen in slow motion but that was how it felt. Their eyes locked and Daryl’s mouth went dry instantly.

Daryl dove into the buffet table, immersed himself in the shrimp ring like his life depended on it.

He’d caught Daryl _staring._

And he’d smiled back at him again.

Only once he’d crammed approximately thirty pieces of shrimp onto his plate did he finally stop. He added a little cocktail sauce because why not? Might as well complete the act of greedy shrimp-loving weirdo.

He felt a hand graze his arm. “Yeah I’m done with the shrimp…” He blurted out a little defensively.

“I can see that,” The man sounded mildly amused and it was him. Of course it bloody was. The mystery man, looking painfully handsome, eyeing Daryl’s shrimp mountain with sparkling eyes. 

Those eyes…

Of course this would be the first time they talked properly. Of course. Daryl felt his face flush crimson and he had to fight the urge not to throw the plate at him and run. That would be about perfect.

“You really like shrimp, huh?” He was really smiling now, teeth white and even. Guy could be a movie star. He was making fun of Daryl.

Normally he’d lash out but found himself smiling back a little, relaxing just a fraction. The guy just had one of those smiles you had to respond to. He had no idea what to do next.

Daryl saw no other option. He extended the plate towards this beautiful stranger, solemnly offering him some shellfish like he was some kind of demented waiter, though he felt like one in his suit. Thus, his humiliation was complete.

“I’m good, thanks.” The man said, looking a little surprised. “I’m actually kind of allergic.”

Daryl would like to say he didn't throw the plate across the table, but that wouldn’t exactly be the truth. He was sincerely glad he never had the chance to eat any.

The man actually laughed, a genuine laugh. And it wasn’t a ‘what a freak, back away nervously’ kind of laugh. It was as if though he thought Daryl had made a joke on purpose.

He’ll take it.

“You didn’t have to do that!” The man grinned broadly.

“I’m Daryl.” He blurted out in lieu of nothing, taking advantage of the small burst of confidence. The man’s eyebrows raised a little but his smile never wavered.

“Paul Rovia.” He responded. And that was two more solid pieces of information he now knew about him. His name was Paul and he was allergic to shellfish. He never would have pegged him for a Paul - too plain. Maybe a Jesus with all that hair.

Paul extended his hand. Daryl stared at it a second before Paul’s intention became clear. He hastily wiped his palm on his smart pants before taking Paul’s hand in his gingerly. 

He didn’t imagine the spark that jumped between them at the contact. Paul gave his hand a light squeeze before Daryl hastily broke the connection.

“You’re the guy from the cafeteria,” He recalled, something in his eyes reminding Daryl of Carol when she was teasing. Someone barged into Daryl on their way to the food, giving him an excuse to gather his thoughts. Then another someone nearly knocked him over and he was just plain annoyed.

“Lets move over here.” He suggested, glaring at the drunken reveller and amazed at his own daring as he touched Paul’s elbow, gesturing to a quiet corner. To his further amazement the other man nodded and followed him quite willingly. He gratefully sank down onto a red velvet lined chair and Paul took the one opposite, still clutching his flute of bubbly. Paul leaned back in the chair and studied Daryl with eyes that glinted. Daryl fiddled with his hands but didn’t break eye contact. His skin felt electrified.

“You’re Key Card Guy.” Paul tried again and that was how he made it sound: Key Card Guy - like it was a defining moment in his perception of Daryl Dixon, Lord help him.

Daryl groaned. He didn’t censor his expression, those two beers working their way through his empty stomach. “Key Card Guy?” He asked weakly.

“It’s not that bad,” Paul reassured him, smiling. He briefly grazed Daryl’s bicep with his hand, comfortingly. “You’re cute when you’re ruffled.”

He can’t have heard _that_ right. Daryl’s heart gave a painfully hopeful thump in his chest. He’s surprised Paul didn’t hear it over the tones of Mariah wanting someone for Christmas (the irony). Was Paul flirting with him? Should he flirt back? _How?!_ He tried not to panic.

“Yeah adorable…” Daryl attempted an eye roll but his mouth kept trying to smile back at the other man. He shifted his chair closer to Paul, just so he could hear him over the music. That was all.

“You have any nicknames for me?” Paul practically prompted, thank God. He was desperately thinking of something witty to say back to him and was drawing a blank.

But how could he answer that honestly? Beautiful Stranger? How very Madonna. Hippy Dude? Not particularly flattering. Canteen Guy? Bland. Jello dude? Absolutely not!

“Eyes.” Daryl blurted out.

“I’m sorry?” Paul blinked, looking confused.

“Your eyes.” He explained, feeling stupid. He looked into them now, using them to find the right words. “They’re like sea glass. Warm blue-green… You’re the man with the sea glass eyes.” He chuckled self consciously.

If the floor could open up right about now that would be great. And please could he have an ETA on those zombies?

He had no idea why he’d been so terribly honest. Only that even in this dim light, he could see them. Pale and direct, so expressive with a warmth and beauty that drew you in. “Ain’t never seen a pair like them.” He admitted, feeling a need to justify himself.

It wasn’t his imagination. Paul looked decidedly pinker. His eyes were so wide and round and his smile kept faltering as though experiencing a multitude of emotions. Daryl was convinced he had offended him.

“I’m sorry, I know it’s weird and cheesy…” He waved his hands around, cursing the effect of the alcohol.

“Thank you.” Paul cut him off, soft and firm. His voice wavered a little, but he didn't sound unhappy about it. In fact he sounded a little…moved? “Thanks for telling me that. I like it.”

He reached out and Daryl didn’t hesitate in meeting him half way. Paul linked their hands once more. His grip was so warm and Daryl felt that little shock again confirming it was real, it was physical and he wondered if he’d ever not feel this way about this man in front of him. It was making his head spin.

Paul withdrew his hand and shook his head lightly, as though pulling himself together. He closed his eyes briefly before settling on Daryl once more. It was as though he was seeing right through him. Daryl shivered, it was not an entirely unpleasant sensation, to finally be seen by this man.

“Sorry. I get a bit handsy when I’ve been drinking.” No one that beautiful should look so mischievous, Daryl had thought hazily.

“That’s fine.” He answered way faster than he should have which made Paul laugh again.

“You’re funny,” Paul declared, positively beaming at him and Daryl basked in it. “Why didn’t you ever come and say hi to me before?”

There was no way he was answering that one, even if he knew where to begin. Daryl shrugged evasively. “Why didn’t you?”

Paul pulled a face that seemed to say, ‘you got me there.’ He shrugged. “You looked nervous. I figured you’d make a move in your own time.” Daryl’s mouth dropped open as his words hit home and Paul grinned at him rather fiendishly. “Yes, I noticed all the staring.”

And if Paul wasn’t still smiling he would have made a very fast exit indeed. But Paul wasn’t making fun of him, he was simply teasing - or rather, flirting. Daryl flushed, feeling absurdly pleased and a little embarrassed. Daryl would have to revaluate innocent, day-dreamy Paul. He was clearly a good actor as he’d never given any indication he had been watching Daryl right back. How unsettling. How _thrilling._

“Yeah about that…” He tugged at his tie and finally settled on pulling the damn thing off. Stuffing it in his shirt pocket gave him a good excuse to look away and collect his thoughts. He shrugged, there was no point in trying to deny it. “M’sorry. You were new and…” _I liked what I saw. You’re beautiful. You fascinate me and I don’t know why._ Too soon for so bold a declaration, he decided. “…You’re interesting.” He finished limply though Paul looked pleased. 

“Am I?” His eyes flashed mischievously. “Why?”

Daryl glared at him though it was undercut with amusement. Paul sure was making him pay for all that staring now. Daryl squirmed. “Paul! I’m no good at this.” He absolutely did not wail.

Paul nodded understandingly, hair swinging and catching the light. He took a sip of his drink, visibly relaxing in his chair. “Alright, I’ll have mercy. I kind of figured you were shy back when I was watching you.”

Daryl couldn’t help but smile at that. “Pervert.” He joked casually whilst cheering inside. He was suddenly feeling bold and Paul chuckled in response.

“We are a pair,” Paul agreed cheerily. “Creeping around each other in a dark corner.”

“I’m not really good with parties.” Daryl agreed since Paul seemed to like hearing his confessions.

“Me neither.” Paul admitted, crinkling his nose and it was ridiculously adorable. “I only came because your friend said you’d be here.”

Daryl froze.

“What?” His voice cracked with horror.

“You know the one? Your lunch buddy, Rick.” His voice was so bright and cheery, like his words weren’t hitting Daryl like a series of slaps.

“Oh my God,” He groaned, finally giving into the urge to hide his face in his hands. It felt hot enough to melt ice.

“Daryl, hey it’s okay!” Paul’s words were comforting though he was laughing at him slightly. He heard his chair scrape closer and then there were his hands, linking with Daryl’s, gently tugging his away from his face. He linked their fingers together and they were so close their knees were touching. Daryl had to look at him. He was helpless and Paul was so beautiful.

He was also a bit of a scheming dick here, let’s be honest.

But he was stroking the backs of Daryl’s hands with his thumbs in a soothing yet exciting way and it had stopped Daryl mid-tantrum with ease. Trails of fire wound through his hands and he tried to keep breathing steady. He wondered if Paul was feeling it too. He still looked so calm and steady, eyes intent on Daryl’s.

“Rick?” Daryl croaked weakly, lost in those eyes that looked positively golden in the dim light. That guy was deader than dead.

Paul nodded, smiling sympathetically. “I’m afraid so.”

“What did he-"

It was all he could get out before his words trailed away in horror at the prospects. Paul licked his lips and his eyes caught the movement before he could stop himself.

“He said that he’d noticed our little staring game,” Paul grinned at the memory and God bless Rick. He could have dropped him right in it but had noticed Paul was as bad as him apparently (unless Paul was being kind?!). Of course Rick had noticed his crush. What a dick.

“Then he offered to set us up. Or at least get us in the same room that wasn’t serving lunch for once.” Daryl liked his voice. So steady and calming. He spoke in a lower tone so his words would stay between them. It was doing things to him. 

“That was sneaky.” Daryl declared, shifting in his seat.

“Yep.” He was still beaming and Daryl rolled his eyes. “That’s a good friend you have there. He even gave me the shovel talk.”

“He didn’t.” Daryl begged, cringing in embarrassment. 

“He did.”

Daryl sighed. “Rick can be…”

“Protective?”

“Was going to say a prick.” They both laughed. At least Paul could see the funny side of it.

There was a beat of silence before Paul blurted out: “I’m glad he did. I like you, Daryl.” His eyes were intense and Daryl shivered with pleasure at his words. “It’s funny, but I feel like I know you.” He almost looked embarrassed so Daryl knew it wasn’t a line or a joke. But strangely enough, he felt the same way.

He nodded in agreement. “But you’re new here, right?” He did a little moving of his own, trailed his fingers over Paul’s bare wrists, skin warm and soft before tracing his forearms. The velvet of his jacket was as soft as it looked. He traced out patterns in the material, appreciating the firm muscles underneath. Paul was deceptively well built under his clothes it would seem. Daryl tried not to imagine it. Failed.

“Yes, moved here about six months ago.” Paul admitted. “You ever lived in DC before?”

“Nah, Georgia born and raised.”

“Really? You like it here? I like it here…”

And they were off. That was all it took. Filling each other in on the aspects of their lives. And it was easy and comfortable and definitely the best party Daryl had been to in… well, ever. 

He found out Paul was the youngest of four sisters. That when he was little, they’d dress him up like a girl and would perform the odd Spice Girls routine together ( _“Why am I telling you this?!” Paul groaned. “I kind of like it.” Daryl had grinned back_ ). Daryl had filled him in on his relationship with Rick ( _“Met him at the hospital and haven’t been able to get rid of him since…”_ ), and his ambitions for the future. Paul had beamed encouragingly at him, said he could easily picture Daryl driving an ambulance, saving lives.

“Though if you were my paramedic, I might have another heart attack. Have you _seen_ your arms?” Paul had pretended to swoon and Daryl had called him a horndog, rolling his eyes. Who would have thought Paul was such a goofball?

They discussed so much as the party wound down. Daryl told him off for his weird jello fixation ( _“What? It’s the only edible thing in that whole cafeteria!”_ which was true enough but Paul was supposed to be a health professional and should know better). Paul had filled him in on his job, on how much he loved rehabilitating those in recovery. 

“You get so close these amazing people and get to see them walk out nearly whole again. It’s the best job in the world.” He expression had gone so soft that Daryl had to fight the maddest urge to kiss him there and then.

Meanwhile, Paul’s hands had found their way to Daryl’s lap and idly trailed patterns over the material of his pants. Daryl stared down at them, tried not to press into his touch. Paul wasn’t being lecherous, but his actions seemed to be completely automatic. Daryl twined his feet with Paul’s, locking ankles in a subconscious way. They were so close and he hadn’t even noticed it happen.

“Daryl?” Paul whispered.

“Yeah?”

“I definitely have to see you again after tonight. Please don’t throw any shellfish at me for saying so, okay?” The smile that blossomed on his face was sweet and one-hundred percent genuine. It warmed Daryl right down to his toes.

The little shit! Daryl tried not to smile, shuffled a little closer.

“I won’t if you start eating something other than jello once in a while. The hell’s a matter with you?”

And then Paul was laughing, throwing back his head and Daryl surprised himself. He was convinced that Paul would have to make the first move, probably not tonight either. But he reached out to Paul tentatively before winding his fingers through his hair (yes, he could confirm it was as soft as it looked), using it to draw him closer. He hesitated for a fraction of a second, taking in those wide sea-glass eyes, before closing the distance between them. 

He pressed his lips to Paul’s and the world faded away. It took less than five seconds, but felt longer, enough to raise his temperature and leave him shaken. Paul’s lips were soft. He traced the seam of his lips with the tip of his tongue and tasted Prosecco. Paul moaned and cupped the line of his jaw, the touch like fire on his skin, and stroked gently as his mouth responded without hesitation.

Then he was abruptly reminded of their very public location at the sudden chorus of wolf whistles and cheers coming from his douche bag colleagues.

They sprang apart and Daryl scanned the staring crowd, trying to decide who to add to his murder list. Carol was actually clapping like a proud mama. And Rick was practically crying, beaming with pride and smugness. If Daryl wasn’t so happy he’d throttle him right now but he guessed he owed him one.

“Wow…” The shaken statement drew his attention back to Paul. He was flushed, smiling sheepishly, dishevelled and utterly gorgeous. Daryl wanted to pull him into his lap and was surprised by the strength of his own urges. “Should we take a bow or something?” 

Daryl gave in and buried his flaming face in Paul’s lap because it seemed like the thing to do. It had been a weird night. The soft hands carding though his hair made in worth it though. He grinned into the material and murmured to himself: “Merry bloody Christmas.”


End file.
